My Very Old Man has died. It was in the paper yesterday. His name was Harold Busby and he was 88 years old. I haven’t seen him in about a week — I pass his house while walking the dogs and I usually stop to pet his Very Sweet Brown Dog and to wave at him behind his picture window. I don’t know what’s happened to the dog — I’ll have to ask his neighbor Lynn, who has been taking care of Harold for the past couple of months. I’m sad about my Old Man — I liked seeing him and waving to him. But after what sounds like kind of a hard life — raising all his brothers and sisters and then living with his mother until she died in 1991 — I’m glad the old man met his end after having been taken care of so well by his neighbors. Lynn was feeding him 3 meals a day — taking them over and sitting with him while he ate because apparently the Meals on Wheels person didn’t stay, and Harold didn’t eat. I like to think he knew at the end that people cared about him. And I hope someone nice took that dog — that is a sweet sweet dog.